


Shadow-Watcher

by Lizardbeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blow Job, Dreams, M/M, Vampire Castiel, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:04:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizardbeth/pseuds/Lizardbeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter with a stranger at the Roadhouse haunts Dean's dreams with a powerful attraction.  (Total AU: Dean works with cars and is in a band.  Castiel isn't an angel.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shadow-Watcher

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ 2009 Fusion Challenge, AU prompt 98: "Vampires!" Many thanks to [](http://lucyparavel.livejournal.com/profile)[**lucyparavel**](http://lucyparavel.livejournal.com/) for looking it over.

It was going to be one of those nights, Dean could tell as soon as the band went out. The crowd was more interested in the college game on the t.v, mostly drunk already, and only a few regulars clapped for them.

In the middle of the set, Dean finished his solo for 'Renegade' with a flourish while Jake and Sam picked up the harmony vocals again. Dean caught his breath, feeling flushed and high on the moment. Fuck, that was awesome.

He glanced to the side of the stage, wondering if anyone else was into it, too. But it was the stillness that caught his attention. In the shadows near the phone, there was a guy Dean had never seen before. He wasn't clapping, just standing there, alone, and he was staring at Dean. He was wearing a suit and a tan trenchcoat, even though it was warm inside.

When Dean looked at his face, their eyes collided.

Dean's fingers froze as he stared back. His heart was suddenly pounding, the adrenaline was pouring through him, and he had no idea why. The guy wasn't _that_ good looking, nor Dean's usual type, and yet Dean couldn't tear his eyes away. The guy didn't even smile - he stared at Dean with an unnerving directness - but there was something about him that grabbed Dean's full attention.

Sam kicked him, and Dean jumped and realized he was a full measure late coming back in. Shit.

When he glanced to that corner again, the guy in the trench was gone.

After the set, after enduring the teasing about his flub, Dean went up to the bar for a beer and chatted with Jo until she was called away to make some frilly thing with an umbrella in it.

"You have talent," a cool voice said suddenly at his elbow, and Dean started. He turned, knowing who it would be.

It was. Up close, the stranger had dark hair, somewhat mussed as if he'd slept on it wet, and full lips that looked like they should be doing sinfully hot things. His eyes were so blue that even the reddish lights in the bar did nothing to dim the color, and they seemed to look right into Dean as if his defenses weren't there.

Dean's mouth went dry and he tried to ignore the renewed racing of his heart. Jesus, what the fuck was wrong with him? He wasn't that desperate to get laid. "Thanks. Not that you'd know it tonight," he muttered, annoyed at himself. Though most of it was the fault of the guy sitting next to him for distracting him. "But, y'know, so you don't waste your time, I'm not on the market right now," he said, knowing it was rude, but he was irritated.

"And I'm not buying," the stranger replied calmly. "My name's Castiel."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Wow, did your parents hate you or what?"

Castiel's eyes flicked down, something flashing through his face, and he explained, "It's a very old name."

"Never heard it before. I'm Dean."

"I know. I've watched you before."

"Really? I don't remember seeing you in here, Cas."

Castiel's shoulders tightened under his trenchcoat at the nickname, almost a flinch, and his full lips made a bit of a sneer as he corrected, "Castiel. And no, you wouldn't."

Jo interrupted, with a cheerful, "Hey, Dean, you want a refill?"

He thought about it then shook his head. "Nah, I'm good. Think I'll go home."

"Not your fault they all wanted to watch football," she said with a shrug. "It happens. But beer's on the house for our favorite guitarist."

"Thanks, Jo." She grinned at him and waved a little, as she went to see what order Ava had for her.

Dean turned back to Castiel, but he was gone. Frowning, Dean looked around but Castiel was nowhere in the bar. "What are you? Batman?" he muttered and shook his head. "Weirdo."

He drained his beer, left some cash for Jo on the bar, and decided to head home.

* * *

_"Dean?"_

Dean's eyes shot open at the whisper and he pushed up on his elbow to look around.

His bedroom window blinds were open, letting in the orange glow of the streetlight outside. Hadn't he shut them? The room was cold, too, as if the window was open, even though he knew that was closed.

There was a dark shape in front of the window.

"What the hell?" Dean asked. He wanted to jump up or look for a weapon, because there was a stranger in his bedroom, but he didn't move.

The figure stepped closer, and his long coat billowed like a cape. Dean realized it was Castiel. His eyes were electric blue and seemed to be practically glowing as they held Dean's, staring at him without blinking for a long moment.

"Dean," he whispered again.

His hand was cool on Dean's face, and Dean froze under the touch. The only thing that moved was his heart, thumping hard in his chest, as Castiel leaned down, closer, and put his lips on Dean's.

Dean felt the touch in the pit of his stomach, like a warm current that rushed through him, and he surged upward to deepen the kiss. Castiel's hand shifted back, to hold his head, as his lips and mouth opened on Dean's to steal his breath. Dean shuddered at the touch of his tongue, slipping between his lips, tasting him. He groaned into the open reaches of Castiel's mouth, wanting more.

Then Castiel drew back, and those coldfire blue eyes stared into his. His fingers were still tight on Dean's head, holding him into place. "You are mine," he declared with a possessive certainty that made Dean shiver, and yet it hit him straight between the thighs with a bolt of heat.

It was as if Castiel knew that, and his lips widened in a faint, satisfied smile. "Mine," he repeated, and touched Dean on the forehead with his fingers.

Dean opened his eyes.

His bedroom was normal again - the window was shut, and the blinds were closed. Castiel wasn't there, of course, because it had been just a dream.

But Dean realized he was aching hard. He curled his fingers around his dick and tried to imagine his usual porn to bring himself off. He liked big shoulders and big hands and tight asses.

But his mind kept returning to those blue eyes and that kiss.

Fuck, what was wrong with him? He'd barely shared two words with the guy. But after a little longer resisting, he gave in, so he could get off like his body wanted to, and he let his mind rove into a fantasy of kissing Castiel again like in the dream.

And unbuttoning that shirt, and pulling the pants down over those trim hips...

When the jolt went through him, he saw those blue eyes again, shining behind his own eyelids.

* * *

"How'd it go last night?" Bobby asked, coming up to where Dean was re-wiring the stereo system for their latest project. Guy wanted a fucking iPod dock in his street racer. What a poser.

"Crowd sucked, and I fucked up Renegade. Jo gave me a pity beer, it was that bad." Dean was about to leave it there, but then he reconsidered. "You know anything about the name Castiel?"

When he glanced up, Bobby was frowning. "It's the name of one of the lesser angels. Pretty obscure. Where'd you hear it? Sam trying to stick his college degree in his songs again?"

Dean shook his head, as always puzzled but grateful for Bobby's inexhaustible stash of trivia, and he chuckled. "Angel? No, no song. I met a guy with that name. He was kind of..." _hot. Strangely hot. I jacked off to him this morning, because I can't get him out of my head._ But Dean didn't want to overshare with Bobby, who didn't give a fuck that his sort-of son was gay, but sure didn't want to hear the grisly details.

Dean dampened suddenly dry lips and finished, "Weird."

Bobby must have seen something of his uncertainty in his eyes, because his hand gripped Dean's shoulder briefly. "Trust your instincts."

"Yeah. Thanks." Dean went back to finishing up the installation, thoughtful. 'Trust his instincts.' If only it was that simple, when his instincts seemed to be fighting each other - half wanting to run away, and the other half wanting to see him again.

He tried to put it out of mind, since he'd probably never see the guy again.

* * *

After work, he drove the Impala back to the Roadhouse, telling himself it was just because he wanted a beer and a burger for a late dinner, not because he wanted to see Castiel again.

He even pretended the little stone that fell through him was hunger, not disappointment, when he looked around the Roadhouse and didn't see anyone with bed-head dark hair and a tan trenchcoat.

Jo came over as soon as he grabbed a stool at the end of the bar. "Don't usually see you here Sundays. What's up?"

He grinned at her. "Me and Bobby had a job for this complete poser douchebag wannabe, and he was paying extra if we finished today. So we did, but I'm starving."

She shook her head at him. "You're always starving. Cheeseburger, fries, and a beer, like always? Sure I can't get you a salad or something more healthy?"

He pretended to gag, and she laughed. "Okay. But don't come crying to me or Mom when you drop dead of a heart-attack."

He rolled his eyes at her, and almost let her get away before he gave into his curiosity. "Hey, Jo. You know that guy in the trenchcoat last night? Does he come in here a lot?"

She frowned. "Trenchcoat? I don't remember any guy in a trenchcoat."

"Tan trenchcoat, suit like he's a banker or accountant or something, and dark hair. I was sitting next to him last night for a little while."

"Much as I want to help you with your conquests," she teased, "no, I don't remember seeing him. Sorry."

Dean's shoulders slumped. So the guy didn't come here a lot, which explained why Dean had never seen him before. Maybe he'd been here for business and had gone home to wherever it was he came from.

Later, a hot college athlete hit on Dean, and despite being Dean's usually type for random pick-ups, he turned him down with a curt, "Sorry, I'm taken."

Which made him remember the dream last night, and the blood rushed to his groin and he had to turn on the stool in case he was showing a little too much under his pants. Someone else brushed his shoulder taking the stood next to him, and he glanced that way, feeling another twinge of disappointment when he saw it was some girl. Because it wasn't Castiel.

He gulped his beer and picked at his fries, and finally grabbed himself a container and bag from under the bar and packed his burger and fries away to eat at home. Hopefully he could get his shit together and stop thinking about someone who had somehow crawled into his head without doing much more than sharing his name.

Ellen waved at him as he left, and he waved back, nearly getting smacked in the face as the door opened from the outside.

The cold air was a bracing shock on his skin, and he felt a little more settled as he went to the car. Unlocking the door, he was trying to remember if anything good was on t.v. tonight, when a soft voice said right into his ear, "Hello, Dean."

Dean jumped, dropped the plastic bag with the food in it, and barely held on to his keys. "God damn it!" He whirled around to find Castiel... close. Like, really close to him. Inches. So Dean could barely see anything but his eyes. And Dean hadn't heard him approach at all.

"Would you stop doing that?" Dean demanded, more breathless than the pissed off he was trying for. His heart was pounding. He tried to step back, but he was already against the door of the Impala with nowhere to go.

"Doing what?" Castiel asked, cocking his head sideways and regarding Dean with mild puzzlement, as if he had no idea what Dean was talking about.

"This?" Dean brought a hand up between them, able to brush both their chests just by twisting his wrist. "You're up in my grill, man. I've already told you I wasn't interested, so unless you want a confrontation, back off."

Castiel took a single step backward, but it was enough to let Dean finally breathe. "That isn't true."

"What?" Dean asked.

"That you aren't interested," Castiel said. And he didn't smile, or seem as if he were joking -- he seemed certain as if he could read Dean's mind and see every last dirty thought in his head from last night.

"I --" he had to clear his throat. "Look, I -- " His eyes strayed down to that mouth, and imagined sliding his dick between those full lips. And his mouth would be tight and hot... and his fingers would grip Dean's ass to bring him all the way...

"Is that what you want, Dean?" Castiel whispered, and somehow Dean wasn't surprised to find him close again. His finger, cold as ice, touched Dean's mouth, tracing his lips, tucking just inside. Dean shivered, and his dick was twitching. "We can both get what we want."

It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to say yes. He wanted -- Jesus, did he want - but it scared him how much he wanted. And since things that seemed too good to be true usually were, in Dean's experience, he forced himself to turn his head away, dislodging the finger. "Get off." He put a hand on Castiel's chest to shove him away, but nothing happened. The guy was about Dean's size, not huge like Sammy, but he barely reacted to the push. "Get off me."

Castiel didn't move at first, eyeing Dean's hand as if it was a curious object touching him, not a hand that should've shoved him away.

Dean's heart leaped into his throat. He felt his upper back pressing against the hood of the Impala and realized how far back he was leaning.

Suddenly Castiel seemed to realize what was happening. He took a step back. "Forgive me," he said with an odd formality. "I didn't intend to frighten you."

"I wasn't frightened!" Dean protested, straightening sharply. He wasn't some little girl worried about monsters under the bed. It'd just been weird that Castiel was so immoveable.

"Good. Don't be. You have nothing to fear from me, Dean," Castiel promised. "I will never do anything to you that you don't want."

Just that quickly, the concern turned back into something hotter at the implied promise in those words. But Dean still had his pride and he snapped, "You're never doing anything to me, at all, dude. You're a psycho, and I've had my fill of psychos. Go away."

Dean turned and opened the door to the Impala. Sliding behind the wheel, he slammed the door.

Somehow it wasn't a surprise that Castiel was gone.

* * *

He was halfway up the steps to his apartment when he realized he'd left the food on the ground at the Roadhouse.

"Damn it." He paused, wondering if he should drive to McDonalds, since he was hungry, and decided he'd see if he had a can of soup or something instead of going out again.

He bolted the door behind him, hung his jacket on the hook, threw his keys on the little table and headed into the kitchen.

When the light went on, he stopped and stared. His heart began pounding and his mouth went dry.

It was sitting so innocuously on the kitchen table. A little white plastic bag with a take-out carton inside. And he knew without going any nearer it was his food from the Roadhouse.

His lips soundlessly said 'fuck', as he pulled the biggest knife out of the block on the counter. "Castiel?" he whispered. "Come out, you fucker, where are you?"

He searched the whole place, half expecting him to be naked in bed or something creepy like that. Closet, hamper, shower, behind the t.v., even the pantry... any place that might possibly be capable of hiding a person.

The place was empty.

Letting out a breath to relax, he dumped the package in the trash, unopened, and popped a beer. He kept the knife near him and the television volume low so he could hear if anyone came to the door.

He thought about going to Sam's or Bobby's place, telling them about this. But he didn't want them to think he was a baby and couldn't handle himself. He'd dealt with enough violence early on, being the new kid all the time and protecting himself and Sam from the ones that saw them as easy pickings. So he could throw a good punch and he'd used a knife before, and he had no problem dirty fighting, after learning some hard lessons about keeping his preferences to himself.

But there was nothing to fight, and no intruder, and he wasn't going to be chased out of his place by a stupid plastic bag.

The weird part was he couldn't figure out how the food had beaten him home in the first place. Even assuming Castiel knew where he lived - and shit, that was a freaky thought - how had he gotten here fast enough to climb up to the balcony and through the sliding door, plant the food on the kitchen counter, and get out?

It wasn't just strange; it was impossible. So maybe that hadn't been the same food at all. Maybe it had been something he'd forgotten leaving there this morning. It wasn't as if he'd looked inside the white bag.

By his third beer, it was starting to seem far more likely that it had been some other bag with something else inside it, and he really should've looked inside before throwing it away. But he didn't look.

He tried to play his acoustic, but the notes were all jangled and wrong, and he gave up to stare at Celebrity Poker Showdown. Eventually, he fell asleep on the couch.

_"Dean."_

The whisper came again, and Dean stirred, eyes opening. The t.v. was showing an old movie, with Jimmy Stewart and Kim Novak, but it wasn't _Vertigo_, and he tried to remember which movie it was...

"Dean."

Dean turned his eyes from the t.v. and Castiel was there, in front of the open screen door, breeze blowing his trench coat around and making the vertical blinds sway behind him.

"You didn't like my gift?" he asked.

Dean stared at him. "I'm dreaming," he insisted to himself. But he wasn't sure. It felt real, but then dreams often did. Was Castiel here, or was this a dream?

He was shivering, confused and frightened. Castiel seemed to glide closer. "It's a dream," Castiel reassured him. "Just a dream. But in this dream, you can have what you want."

He leaned down, closer and closer, until his lips found Dean's. Dean let out a little breath of shock, and then kissed back. Castiel's mouth pressed hard into his, and when Dean opened his mouth wider, tongues met and stroked, and Dean licked at those sex-inspired lips.

Castiel's hands were on his shoulders, and down his chest and stomach, and then to his waist, unfastening his pants before Dean was really aware of it. But he felt it when a sure hand slipped inside his fly to grip his rising erection. "Oh God," he murmured into Castiel's mouth. "Oh, please, please," he whispered, breaths now turning to pants, as that hand freed his cock, and then gripped the shaft to make him hard.

Then he let go, and Dean moaned, at the unfulfilled desire racing through him.

"Hush," Castiel put a finger across his mouth and then Dean realized Castiel was kneeling on the rug, between Dean's legs. "We get what we want," he murmured in reminder and lowered his head.

Dean watched, hardly able to bear it, as his cock slipped inside that lush mouth, just as he had imagined it. But better. Oh, fucking hell, so much better, to feel the wet heat surrounding him, and the tongue stroking his underside, with one hand circling the base to keep it still and put pressure on his tightening balls.

Castiel's head moved back and forth, fucking his own mouth on Dean's cock, and although Dean still had his head bent to watch because he couldn't tear his eyes away, he could barely breathe now, panting as his body felt the building rush of desire.

"Oh, yes, Cas, just keep going, don't stop, please God don't stop... I'm gonna, gonna," he warned, but Castiel didn't slip off, instead pushing forward, deeper.

Dean threw back his head, arching his back, as his hips jerked his release into Castiel's mouth and the pleasure rushed through him.

The feeling was so strong, Dean barely felt it at first - a sharp pinprick on his inner thigh but then the pain spiked. "What are you-- what are you -- " He put a hand on Castiel's dark hair, intending to make him stop, but then he froze as another jolt of pleasure washed through him.

"O,h God. What the hell--" he said breathlessly, and then couldn't talk at all.

It seemed to go on and on, centered between his legs, but pulsing up his spine until his vision went black and starry.

When it faded enough that he had the strength to open his eyelids, Castiel wasn't there. Castiel had never been there.

It had all been a dream again. Except Dean's pants were open, and his limp cock was outside his underwear. And he was exhausted as if he'd had the longest fucking orgasm of his life.

The t.v. was showing an infomercial and he turned it off, before staggering to the bathroom on shaky legs.

Castiel might be a crazy psycho, but good God-damn, the dream version was one powerful kind of blowjob fiend.

Dean collapsed into his bed and fell instantly asleep.

 

tbc...


End file.
